


you don't have to tell me (i can see it in your eyes)

by strandedonthemoon



Series: does it ever get better? (a journey through self-harm) [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Awesome Michelle Jones, Blood Loss, Crying, Gay Ned Leeds, Hurt Peter Parker, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark Coparenting Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) Needs a Hug, Mental Health Issues, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Peter Parker has PTSD, Rating May Change, Self-Harm, The Author Wishes Her Readers The Recovery They Deserve, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Worried May Parker (Spider-Man), Worried Ned Leeds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-08 08:47:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20832665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strandedonthemoon/pseuds/strandedonthemoon
Summary: He's acting as if this is nothing."If you're trying to kill yourself," May said before she could help it, looking away from him, "you were almost successful."She heard Peter suck in a sharp breath, then run out the door.OR: Peter at rock bottom, through everyone else's eyes.Reading the previous parts is very very highly recommended. You probably won't get this otherwise.





	you don't have to tell me (i can see it in your eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> this one's a doozy. and longer than I anticipated. 
> 
> per usual, there are some trigger warnings, including: lots of blood, physical abuse from paternal figure, slight dissociation, mentions of drug use, crying, mentions of suicidal thoughts.
> 
> stay safe :)

**MAY**

May was greeted with an empty home, and for once, she didn't panic. 

Even after checking all the rooms and finding no sign of her nephew ever coming home, except for the bloody razor in the bathroom sink. She checked his location on his watch- in the Tower, thank God, but she guessed that already- before sighing. Because she knew this was coming. She could feel it. But every time she'd bring it up, he'd deflect, argue, deny it was even happening. Even if he knew it was happening. Even if she knew. 

May didn't go to sleep right away. Instead, she cleaned the blood from the sink and threw the razor in the trash; she knew he was going to buy a new one and wedge it in the space between the sink and the wall, but she couldn't help but hope. Then, she took a shower, threw Tony a quick text, and tried going to sleep. 

But of course she couldn't. How could she?

Somewhere between the night of Sunday and morning of Monday, she gave up and pulled Peter's vitals up on her phone. 

Steady. Slow. Probably means he's asleep, which was a relief in and of itself. 

A part of her brain eased, because he was sleeping, and maybe it was because of the exhaustion, but it was progress. 

That part of her brain let her drift off into a light dose, barely counting as sleeping; she couldn't fully drift off with Peter's vitals beating in the background, but she wouldn't turn them off anyway. 

And then suddenly, his vitals picked up around six AM. He was awake then. And mildly panicking. She shook the sleep away and focused fully on Peter's heart rate. 

It kept picking up for about ten minutes, and May was worrying about him having an anxiety attack when it suddenly started dropping, and that's when she panicked. 

She dialed Peter's number, and then Tony's three times, and then Peter's again, only to reach their voicemails; she left a voicemail after each call, even though she didn't usually do that. But she was desperate, and she needed to know what was going on. 

(In the haze of her panic, she didn't notice Peter's vitals pick up and then stutter as he nicked an artery on his wrist).

May was about to call Peter a third time when she heard the door creak open slowly- she was out of her room and in the hallway before the door could close. 

"Peter?" she called, as he was closing the door. "Baby, are you okay?"

Then he turned, and it took all of her might not to scream.

Peter was bleeding, from a huge gash across the length of his forearm and one of his palms, his eyes were bloodshot, glassy and filled with tears, nose runny and red, but face guarded, as if he was afraid of letting her see him break. And he was bleeding- he was literally broken- and there was so much blood, everywhere. On his clothes, running down his hand, dripping onto the floor... May had to turn away as her stomach lurched. 

"Hey, May," he said, and even his voice came out hoarse and fractured. 

A part of her didn't know what to do. She knew that when she took him in all those years ago that it would be hard, that he's been through more shit that most people go through their entire lives. She knew that risk and she took it anyway. But back then, it was her and Ben. Ben knew how to handle Peter way more than she ever could; he kept Peter grounded, his head placed securely on his shoulders. He knew what to do when he started to float away. 

Now Ben was gone, and Peter was floating so far from her. And she wasn't equipped for this. She knew she wasn't. But that's the thing they don't tell you about being a parent- you aren't equipped for most of the shit your kids hurl at you, no matter how much you know them and how much you love them. You can never be equipped for watching them hurt. 

All you can do is try. 

"Oh, baby," May said, her voice soft. She hastily wiped her cheeks from her tears, because, God, she could never be equipped to watching him hurt. "You look like a ghost."

He looked away from her. "May..."

"We have to get that checked out."

"I have school, May."

"You can miss today." She sounded desperate when she said it, almost begging. _Please let me help you, Peter. Let me help you take care of yourself. _

Peter seemed to have picked up the message and sighed, almost annoyed at her concern. "I'll be behind in my classes."

"At least let me clean the cuts," she amended._ Anything. Just let me help you_. 

"Advanced healing."

"That doesn't seem to be working. Right?"

Peter turned his head away from her, pursing his lips.

"Please, baby," she said, and a part of Peter's face softened a little.

"Whatever," he replied. 

May pulled him into the bathroom, picking the glass from his palm and cleaning the blood from his arm and hands, then focusing on disinfecting the cuts. She noted that he nicked his radial artery, only very slightly, but even that in itself was concerning. He probably lost at least a liter of blood. 

"That's going to leave a scar," she said, voice low. He didn't respond. 

May did the sutures on her own; being a nurse and having the medical equipment in her house was especially useful that day. Then she wrapped his arm in gauze, just to be safe.

The second she was done, he was getting up and going to his room, leaving her on the bathroom floor. Not even a minute later, he was getting out again, in clean clothes and hair combed, carrying his backpack. "I'm going to school."

Tears filled May's eyes before she could help it. 

_He's acting as if this is nothing. _

"If you're trying to kill yourself," she said before she could help it, looking away from him, "you were almost successful."

She heard Peter suck in a sharp breath, then run out the door. 

**TONY**

Tony didn't know how long he sat there on, blood seeping through his foot and unresponsive to FRIDAY's demands to get it cleaned and wrapped. He did know it was long enough for FRIDAY to call someone; he tried to protest, but he couldn't get the argument past his throat, and he wasn't really paying attention to who FRIDAY was calling anyway. 

It wasn't until he was staring at a pair of dark, worried eyes that he realized he probably sat there for hours. Those eyes were supposed to be halfway across the country. 

"Tony..." the man trailed, trying to keep it together. 

"Rhodey?" Tony croaked. 

"Yeah, man," he replied, expression somber. 

"Wh-What're you doing here?" Tony asked, drained and tired. It was honestly a surprise he said so much. 

"FRIDAY called me." Rhodey said, shifting. The glass beneath his boots screeched a little, making Tony flinch. "Said you were unresponsive and bleeding, so I had Happy send a Quinjet to Cali to pick me up."

"Oh." 

"Yeah."

There weren't any more words exchanged. Rhodey helped Tony stand, then let Tony lean his weight on him as they hobbled to the Medbay, careful of the remaining glass shards on the floor- they weren't many, but enough to have to pay attention. 

_Wasn't there more glass? _Tony thought. _I'm sure th__ere was so much more glass. Rhodey must've cleaned some of it up._

They reached the Medbay, and Rhodey immediately got to work, taking the glass out of Tony's foot and disinfecting it, then wrapping it in gauze. Then he helped Tony into a shower, where he just sat staring at the opposite wall for fifty minutes until Rhodey came and took him out. Then he was ushered to bed, the sun in the sky dipping beneath the horizon. 

"I can't," Tony said suddenly, stopping in front of his bedroom door. 

Rhodey's eyes scrunched. "What?"

"I can't go to sleep, Rhodey," he clarified, clenching his fists. 

"Tony-" 

"You didn't see him. You don't know what I saw today." Tony sank to the floor in the hallway, and Rhodey sat in front of him with no prompting. 

"Remember when dad came to visit me in MIT?" he asked Rhodey, looking him in the eyes. Rhodey nodded, albeit a little confused. 

"I never told you what happened because I can't remember a lot of it," Tony began. "It's all a blur. But I remember he came to MIT after Christmas-"

"New Years."

"What?"

"He came in New Years," Rhodey corrected. 

Tony shrugged, looking down. "Well, whatever. I didn't want to go back home that year, and you weren't going home because you already went in Thanksgiving and maybe Christmas, and I didn't want to leave you alone, so I stayed, and he showed up. It was the first time you met him, right?"

Rhodey nodded.

"I remember telling you to leave. I knew it was going to get ugly, and I didn't want you to- if he laid a hand on you, I couldn't- I wouldn't be able to-" Suddenly, Tony couldn't breathe, just thinking about Rhodey getting hurt. Thinking about his dad laying a hand on him. Thinking about his deadweight suit falling through the sky, and the leg braces he now wears because Tony wasn't fast enough. 

Rhodey took Tony's shaking hand in his own, and when he looked up, there were tears in Rhodey's eyes. 

With a deep breath, Tony powered through.

"I told you to leave- and you did- and we fought; I can't remember for the life of me why. He hit me, punched me square in the jaw and kicked me a few times. I think he stepped on my stomach a few times, too-"

The man flinched at that, and Tony squeezed his hand apologetically, but continued. 

"And then he left, and you were rushing back in, freaking out. It's the only time I can remember when you weren't anything but calm." Tony took a deep breathe. "Everything after that is a haze, but at some point I was drifting off and you were calling your mom, I think, and you said, 'I never knew someone could have so much blood'."

"I was calling my mom," Rhodey confirmed. "She came by and helped me wrap your wrist 'cause it was fractured, and figured out what to do about the vomiting up blood thing."

Tony couldn't remember that, but his heart simultaneously warmed and ached. 

"Rhodey," he started, voice cracking, "I never knew someone could have so much _blood_."

He cried until he fell asleep in the hallway, Rhodey still holding his hand. 

**MICHELLE**

Michelle wasn't caring- she wasn't. But she did care, especially about her two loser friends, Ned and Peter. 

The latter of which, isn't being very subtle about his self-induced destruction. 

And she was concerned, because not many people show up to school looking like they haven't slept, eyes bloodshot, coming down from a high, angry and disoriented. But Peter did, for everyday of the week since Monday. And now it was a Thursday, and she was at his house with Ned, studying, and she had a plan. 

She pulled out her phone and texted Ned. 

_MJ: where are his razors?_

She could feel Ned glance at her from across the room. 

_Ned: y_

_MJ: just tell me. _

_Ned: not until u tell me y_

_Ned: if ur thinking of throwing them, he'll just buy new ones that r sharper_

Michelle sighed, getting frustrated with Ned's lack trust in her. 

_MJ: i'm not going to throw them away. _

_MJ: just tell me._

_MJ: he's my friend. i want to help him._

_Ned: and he's my boyfriend. so if there r going 2 b any changes in helping him, i need 2 know _

_MJ: i'm just going to put some alcohol wipes and disinfect his razor. don't worry. _

_Ned: u couldve just said that_

She rolled her eyes. What else did he think she was going to do?

_Ned: right side of the sink, wedged between the sink and the wall_

_MJ: thank you. _

"I'm going to the bathroom," MJ announced suddenly. "I think I got my period."

She could see Ned roll her eyes from the corner of her eye, but Peter was just smiling awkwardly at her. "There are some pads and tampons under the sink if you need them."

"Menstrual cup," she replied, then just stood there awkwardly, earning her an indignant laugh from Ned. She shot him a glare.

God, she needs to get better at lying. 

"Oh, okay," Peter replied, oblivious, glancing at Ned with a lovesick smile. Small, timid, lips barely curled, but eyes shining and full of love. 

"I'm going to..." Michelle trailed, gesturing to the door, and before anyone could reply, she took her backpack and bolted to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. 

Okay. She could do this. 

First, dull the edge and disinfect the blade. 

Michelle quickly found where the blade was hiding and took it out, inspecting it. It was small, the size of half her pinkie, but sharp and matted with charred blood, bent slightly with obvious use. She took the edge of the blade and scratched it against her backpack, dulling it slightly- not enough for him to get a new one or even to notice, but enough that it'll take more conscious effort to draw blood. Then she took an alcohol wipe from her backpack and disinfected it, rubbing at the dried and crusty blood until it the blade was shining again. 

She set the blade to a side as she also disinfected the hiding place, which was unsanitary in and of itself. Then she wedged the razor back in, along with a small note. 

Second, make sure Peter has quick access to first aid supplies. 

Turning the tap on so Peter wouldn't hear her, she rummaged through the cupboards until she found a first-aid kit at the very back of the cupboard under the sink. She took it out and opened it, finding that it was already full of supplies used to clean cuts- courtesy of May, probably- but that wasn't her concern. The other items in the cupboard were. She began to move them around until there was a space right at the very front for the first-aid kit, so no one could miss it. 

Finally, MJ took the packets of alcohol wipes and tape from her bag, sticking the packets onto the wall just under the razor, the sink obscuring them to any onlooker but would be extremely obvious to someone trying to get the razor out. 

She had just finished taping it when her phone buzzed from a text from Ned. 

_Ned: could u leave a little earlier tdy cuz i wanna talk 2 peter_

Michelle thought that she should mind, but she didn't. In fact, she almost felt relieved. 

_MJ: ouch. _

_MJ: but sure._

_Ned: thanks_

_Ned: and sorry_

_Ned: its not that i dont want u to b there_

_Ned: but i dont think he'll talk if he thinks its an ambush_

_MJ: you're right_

_MJ: and I get it. you are his boyfriend. _

She hesitated, but ultimately started typing. 

_MJ: sometimes i think Peter doesn't realize how much he means to his friends and family, and how much it hurts that he pushes us away._

Ned typed for a long time, the three typing dots disappearing and reappearing insistently. 

_Ned: honestly?_

_Ned: he doesn't_

The weight of the sentence pushed at her chest, and tears formed in her eyes. She quickly wiped them away and got out of the bathroom, trying not to look like she was crying.

**NED**

While MJ was still there, all Ned could think about- all he wanted, _needed_, to do- was to hold Peter. Just hold him. He missed his boyfriend, even if he was sitting across from him, going over some history notes for their upcoming test. But he was so far away. Sometimes he felt like the Peter he knew was gone entirely, and all that he left behind was a shell that looked like him and smiled like him and talked like him, but didn't laugh or kiss the same way, didn't hold him close the way he used to, tight and confident and sure. He didn't even breathe the same way; it was as if everything he said was held back by a breathe. 

So Ned made a plan for when Michelle left to talk to Peter. To draw the Peter he knew- the Peter he was sure was there but buried under layers of hurt and self-destruction- out of the cocoon he coiled himself in. Even a little bit, because a little bit is better than nothing, and that's enough for Ned. 

He honest-to-God wanted to follow the plan, but the minute Michelle left the room, Peter was crossing the room and then he was on his lap and then he was kissing him, soft and tender and earnest, and yeah, he was being a bit more frantic and quick-paced, but at least the kiss was sincere. At least it was honest. 

And, God, Ned missed that. He _missed_ that. He missed the way Peter would cup his face when he deepened the kiss, and the way he'd draw his lips back enough to make Ned think he'll stop, just to push back and back again. He missed the way it drove him crazy. 

Ned missed this, so much, so he kissed him back, his fingers tracing the groove of his neck and down his shoulder, along the length of his side and back up again. Peter smiled into the kiss before pulling Ned impossibly closer, kissing him so urgently, as if he missed this, too. 

For a moment, Ned let himself forget that this wasn't his Peter- it sure felt like his Peter. He let himself forget that this was the same Peter that distanced himself from him because he was hurt and scared, and he didn't know how to ask for help. He let himself forget that this was the same Peter that would rather have the whole world worry about him than admit he wasn't fine. 

Or maybe Ned didn't forget, while he was kissing him. Maybe Peter kissing him was his way of saying _sorry_, and Ned kissing him back was the _it's_ _okay_. 

He thought maybe that meant that he didn't have to talk to him, but then his fingers brushed over Peter's exposed forearm- where his sweatshirt rode up- and felt the bumps of scars underneath his fingertips, and Ned knew that he had to at least try. 

Especially when, much to Ned's embarrassment, he hiccuped a sob into Peter's lips.

"Babe?" Peter asked, concern washing over his features. 

Ned pulled away and wiped the tears streaming down his cheeks, trying to compose himself. 

"Ned..."

"You won't tell me what's wrong. You won't tell me how to help," Ned started, powering through. "Every time I ask you either deflect or get pissed-"

"Babe-"

Tears were still stubbornly filling Ned's eyes and decorating his face, and his voice was beginning to water. "And you think you're hiding it well, but I can tell when you're coming down from a high, or you just cut, or even if you haven't had enough sleep. I can tell."

Peter stayed silent this time, and he was looking away, eyes turning glassy. 

Ned continued. "But I don't know what you're thinking when you get high, or hurt yourself, or not sleep. I'm not a mind-reader, Peter. I can't figure out what's going through your head if you don't tell me. And you won't, no matter how much I ask."

There are definitely tears streaming down Peter's face now, and it's almost enough to make Ned stop talking altogether and pull Peter into a hug to try to shield him from the world. Almost. 

"I can't _do_ this anymore, Peter," Ned said, his voice finally breaking. "You can't. _We_ can't."

"I'm sorry," Peter tried, but that wasn't enough. 

"I don't want an apology, _mahal ko_. You don't have anything to be sorry for. And I don't want an explanation. But I want to be here for you. I want you to _let_ me be here for you."

Peter turned his head away, not bothering to wipe the tears making their way down his face.

"Please. Let me be here for you," Ned said, desperate, begging, his voice breaking. 

For a moment, it seems as if he's battling whether or not he's gonna say something. Then, he closes his eyes like he made up his mind.

"You know, you don't have to be here," he whispered, so low that Ned thought he might have misheard it, but he didn't and he knew it. "I mean- you can give up on me."

_You can give up on me._

Like he was giving Ned permission. 

That sent a piercing pain through Ned's heart. 

"I don't want to give up on you," Ned replied, cupping Peter's face with his hand and wiping his tears. "I'm _not_ giving up on you, or on us, ever. I mean that. But I don't think I'm the one giving up."

The boy nuzzled his face into Ned's hand as a particularly hefty sob broke through his lips. 

"I'm going to ask you this one more time, Pete," Ned says, his voice clear despite the tears still filling his eyes. "What's wrong?"

For a moment, Peter's whole body tensed up, like he was just so used to fighting, but then Ned took his hand and kissed his knuckles, and he deflated. 

"I don't know," he admitted, shoulders shaking. "It's- I'm just so fucking _sad_."

Then he broke down, sobs tearing through him like they couldn't come out fast enough. Like he kept them trapped in him- which he probably did- and now they were escaping with vengance. He shook so hard that Ned cupped his face again and had to talk him through breathing before he started to hyperventilate while holding back sobs himself. And by the time the tears have dried and sobs have subsided to the occasional hiccup, they were lying on Peter's bed, Ned holding Peter like he wanted, tangled and exhausted. 

"I'm sorry for not being honest with you," Peter said into Ned's chest. 

"It's okay," Ned replied. He was rubbing Peter's arm where the scars were, acknowledging they exist and giving them love and care anyway, no matter how much pain they represented; Peter needed that love and care to soothe the pain. "You don't have to apologize. I get it."

Peter looked up at him from where his head was laying on Ned's chest and smiled a sad, tearful, but genuine smile, with genuine emotion peaking through, instead of a wall of apathy.

_I love you,_ that smile said. _I love you__. _

Ned smiled back.

_I love you, too. _

**HAPPY**

Happy still picked Peter up from school that Friday, even though he knew that him and Tony fought and he was probably going to skip lab today. 

It was peculiar, and very out of character for him, but Happy couldn't help it. He was worried about the kid all the time now, especially after he found him at that house party, bleeding and burnt, doped on over-the-counter meds, mumbling incoherently to a random girl about Happy coming to take him home. 

That wasn't something Happy could forget suddenly, if at all. 

So he was picking the kid up from school, even if it was just to drop him off at his own home. 

Peter bounded down the school stairs, holding hands with his weird boyfriend Ned and talking with his scary friend Michelle. And he looked really tired, like Ned's hand was the only thing keeping him upright. 

When he looked at Happy, leaning on the hood of the car, he looked confused and maybe even a little worried. 

"Hey, kid," Happy said, once the kid got close enough. "Ready to go?"

"Um." Peter looked down at his shoes uncomfortably. "Sorry you had to come all the way here, but I'm not actually going to the compound today. I forgot to tell you that lab was canceled."

"Oh, I know lab is cancelled," Happy said, getting in the car. 

Despite his obvious confusion, Peter got into the car, too, sliding into the passengers seat. "Then why are you here?"

"To make sure you're okay-"

"Happy-"

"And to drop you off at your house."

Peter looked down at his hands. "You don't have to do that."

"I want to," Happy relied, voice softer than usual. 

"I'm sorry."

Happy did a double take, turning to Peter. What on earth did the kid have to be sorry for? Did he take more drugs? Did he relapse?

"I know I scared you that night," Peter continued, not specifying what night he meant because there was only one night that scared Happy, and they both knew that. "And that's why you're always worrying about me now. I don't really give you good reason to trust that I won't do that again."

"Where's this coming from, kid?"

Peter looked at his hands, played with the edges of his fingernails, and he was so nervous. It couldn't have been more obvious. A part of Happy felt bad that he was nervous because of him, but he pushed it down. That was a thought for later on, when he didn't have a nervous wreck of a kid to worry about. "I don't know," Peter said, low. "I just think that maybe that's why you're always around now."

Happy hated that Peter was right, but for all the wrong reasons. Yeah, he's around more because he's worried, but that worry wasn't out of anything but love. Peter made it seem as if it was out of obligation.

"Kid, no offense, but shut up."

That startled a laugh out of Peter, which was a relief. Happy was starting to think that he was never going to hear that laugh again. 

"I'm picking you up because I want to pick you up. Now start ranting about your day."

Peter smiled. "Thank you."

_Thank you for caring. _

Happy surprised himself by smiling back. 

"No problem, kid."

**PETER**

Sometimes, Peter would remember what happened with Tony in the beginning of the week, and suddenly it was like there was no more air left in the world.

But that event was everywhere, consistently, knocking the air out of his lungs, because there was evidence of it happening everywhere he turned. On his arm, where the wound began to turn into an ugly scar. In his room, where a bloody MIT sweater was pushed into a corner. On his aunt's face, as she cried into the phone, with Tony on the other side. 

_Rhodey told me to call you. _

_I'm glad he did._

_I'm so sorry, May. I don't know what to do anymore. _

_Don't apologize, Tony. _

_I have to. He's your kid. _

_Our kid. He's _our_ kid. _

_He isn't okay, May. _

_He will be. _

The conversation ended with a lot of tearful goodbyes and a promise to meet up and figure out a plan, then May went to sleep. Peter took this as a chance to leave his room and go to the bathroom. His wrist was itching, and he was dying to cut before he went to bed. 

But when he was pulling his razor out, he was met with alcohol wipes taped to the wall under, and a note between the wall and the blade. He took the note out. 

_Call someone,_ it read, rather cryptically. MJ's handwriting. 

That just made his wrists itch more. He fumbled for the razor and pressed it on the stitches on his forearm. 

And he thought about easy it would be to slice his arm open and let himself bleed out. 

_If you're trying to kill yourself, you were almost successful. _

The memory knocked Peter's breath away, and he was sinking to the floor, blade dropping from his shaking hands.

He didn't want to die; surely his aunt knew that. But he couldn't help but think that she didn't, that no one did. Maybe even he didn't. God, it was getting so hard to even get up out bed, to walk, eat, breathe, but that was normal, right? And he didn't want to die, but he wanted all of this to stop. He wanted everything to stop. And that was normal, too. Right? It was normal to want to his life to stop, because he didn't want to die. He didn't want to kill himself. He couldn't. 

_This is not okay_, his brain whispered_. This is not normal. _

Tears were flowing down Peter's face, and then he was fumbling through his room and dialing a number on his phone. 

The first ring didn't even finish when the phone picked up. "Pete? Are you okay?"

"Tony?"

* * *

Peter swung to the Tower that night for a long-overdue talk. 

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! im back :) sorry for the long hiatus over the summer, but now im back and writing again! 
> 
> this one hurt to write. a lot. especially since self-harm is an issue I still deal with. so I hope you guys like this. 
> 
> kudos and comments?
> 
> thanks for reading!


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